Body Shot
by Night Lotus Blossom
Summary: Can John and Ellie work together to rid themselves of their demons?  This was written for the Jellie Shippers 2010 Smut Challenge.  Contains spoilers through the end of "Chuck" Season 3.


**Title**: Body Shot  
**Author**: Night_Lotus  
**Rating**: M  
**Word Count: **  
**Chapter: **1/1  
**Disclaimer: **I neither own Chuck nor its marvelous characters, but because of the creative genius of Chris Fedak and Joshua Schwartz, I have the opportunity to play in their sandbox.  
**Summary**: Can John and Ellie work together to rid themselves of their demons?  
**Author's Note**: Written for the Jellie_Shippers 2010 Smut Challenge. Contains spoilers through the end of "Chuck" Season 3.

Breath that she didn't realize she was holding rushed out of her lungs, fueling her noisy sigh as she sat down heavily in the chair at the record station and glanced wearily at the AcuMed tablet resting in her hand. She inserted the docking end of the cable into the bottom of the device and eased the USB plug into the port of the computer resting on the desk. She uploaded the updates she had made to patient charts during her seemingly endless shift, which was thankfully ending in the next few minutes.

She had clocked over 60 hours during the last four days and desperately need to get home and endeavor to work through the myriad of emotions that were spinning out of control in her mind. She blew her bangs out of her face and felt the anger she had tenuously managed to keep tamped down start to bubble to the surface, as the horrifying and heartbreaking images of the last few days washed over her.

Tuesday started out quite pleasantly, and she actually smiled, for the first time in days, as she recalled her exchange with Dr. Stevens. She had completed her residency under the wise and kind tutelage of the experienced ER chief of staff. The tall, silver-haired man with crystal clear blue eyes had thirty plus years of emergency medicine under his belt, and he had indeed seen everything.

Richard Stevens was one of the calmest, most centered doctors she had ever worked with, and he didn't make it his goal to undermine and cause his residents to cry like many of the chiefs on the other floors. That alone had convinced her to specialize in emergency medicine and remain at Westside after completing her residency.

It was early morning, and the ER was unusually quiet. She always worried when it was quiet like this, listening for the telltale sounds of the paramedics barging through the doors at breakneck speed, wheeling in patients in various stages of distress, triaging them as they went. She closed her eyes in satisfaction as the warm, bitter brew slid down her throat. The familiar-tasting, bad coffee was a staple of her day, and she was finishing her last cup, glancing at the notices posted on the bulletin board in the doctor's lounge.

"Good to the last drop, huh?" he chuckled, pouring the remaining bit of sludge into his Styrofoam cup before starting a fresh pot. She laughed, turning away from the bulletin board to face him as the sound of his voice drew her concentration away from the advertisement for the hospital's annual black tie charity ball. "I think Mrs. Olson is probably spinning in her grave, right now," she quipped, tossing her cup into the trash. His eyes twinkled, and the skin around them crinkled as he smiled at her joke. "You're absolutely right my dear. She would be appalled. Simply appalled."

A devilish grin spread on his face, and she knew he was up to something, and she was in trouble. He made her wait for it for a couple of long, drawn-out moments, before making the casual, teasing suggestion. "If you ever tire of that scary-looking stud that you're dating, I know a dashing young man that would adore accompanying you to that ball." Her mentor had been trying to set her up with his son, Ryan, ever since she and Devon had mutually and very civilly agreed to conclude their relationship, recognizing that they had different career and life goals. He was off performing open heart surgery and saving lives at John Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore; windsurfing at the Inner Harbor and enjoying brews and Chesapeake crabs boiled in Old Bay, with the boys. She decided to stay in Burbank and was happier than ever since she and John had ceased dancing awkwardly around their mutual attraction and finally decided to act upon it.

"While I appreciate the kind offer," she acknowledged, lacing her arm through his, giving him a light squeeze, "John cuts a mean figure in a tux."

"See? That there is exactly what I mean, Ellie. You don't want your date being mistaken for a bouncer, do you?"

"Richard, you really are a hopeless romantic, aren't you?" she said, giving his arm a playful swat as they walked out of the lounge together, into the ER. That was when the trap door to hell opened, and they were plunged into heart-wrenching chaos.

Before the networks had even scented the carnage from the explosion at the Ironworks foundry in Southeast L.A., Westside's emergency communication system was on fire with the frantic cross talk of police, firefighters and emergency workers attempting to contain the massive fire, while still saving lives. The two doctors paused at the broadcast station, filtering out the necessary information from the cacophony of overlapping voices.

She released Richard's arm, and he hastily set his coffee cup down on the counter of the nurse's station, where it remained forgotten. They both ran into main corridor of the ER to prepare for the scores of gurneys that arrived within minutes, carrying people that were injured beyond belief. The macabre parade of charred and maimed bodies seemed endless, all the while the repeated code red announcement resonated throughout the entire hospital, urgently directing all available staff to the ER.

It wasn't the blood. It was the lack thereof that caused a chill to trace down her spine as she attended to the first batch of accident victims. Whatever external injuries they may have sustained during the explosion were instantly cauterized by the molten metal and the unfathomable heat that was disgorged from the enormous blast furnace when it blew. Most of them weren't in any pain, at least not yet, their nerve endings obliterated by the penetrating third degree burns. While it was a temporary blessing, they risked dying as soon as their bodily fluids started seeping from the former skin turned to ash. She worked as quickly and efficiently as possible to ensure that didn't happen, but she and the rest of the doctors, nurses and patient technicians working in the ER that day failed more often than they won.

That first day, she worked almost 18 hours straight, losing count of the number of times she had to utter the words that no family member or friend ever wants to hear. _I'm sorry; we weren't able to save her. The injuries were just too severe. He fought as hard as he could. He's not in pain anymore._ The anguished cries of the mourners still seemed to bounce off of the waiting room walls just as loudly as they echoed in her head.

They transferred those still needing round-the-clock care to the ICU and others that were in more stable condition, to the med-surge floor. After managing to catch a scant five hours of very restless sleep on one of the cots in the staff quarters, which became her temporary residence for the next three days, Ellie joined her colleagues in the ICU, working ceaselessly to stabilize the men and women that hovered between this world and the next. Here, where hope was a whisper, she still felt like the angel of death, robbing family members of their kin.

Those that survived, she knew, would carry more than just the shiny, raised keloid scars all over their bodies. Far worse would be the open looks of shock and thinly veiled disgust when others were confronted with their misshapen, melted faces. Those looks would hurt more than the dead, destroyed skin being sloughed off during daily hydrotherapy showers.

As a resident, she learned, the hard way, the necessity of compartmentalizing her emotions while at work. Early in her residency, she allowed herself to become attached to a sweet, formerly redheaded toddler being treated in the cancer ward. Nearly every day after her shift, she would check in on the three year old, reading her stories and coloring alongside her, while her parents grabbed a quick bite from the hospital cafeteria.

Maggie's round, emerald green eyes looked luminous and huge on her small face, offset by her bald head. The russet ringlets that used to frame her heart-shaped face were gone, lost to the chemotherapy. She struggled to stay awake while Ellie spirited her away to worlds filled with beautiful fairy princesses resplendent in ball gowns, wolves with razor sharp teeth that hungered for little girls cloaked in red capes and small, scrawny boys climbing gigantic beanstalks that disappeared into the clouds.

Her small, pink, bow-shaped mouth parted, a soft breath rushing out as the little one drifted off into a peaceful sleep that was not filled with needles, bags of bright red and yellow medication that stung as it filled her veins and the loving, yet often teary faces of her parents. They tried their best to keep bright smiles and positive emotions painted on their faces, but she sometimes saw their tears, and reached up with tiny, dimpled fingers to wipe the hurt away. "Don't cry Mommy. It's okay Daddy." Ellie pressed a gentle kiss to Maggie's silky soft cheek, pulling the blankets over her tiny body, tucking her in.

"Love you, sweet girl." Ellie choked back a sob as the images came flooding back.

Her heart shattered when little Maggie succumbed to the acute lymphoblastic leukemia poisoning her blood. Punching, kicking and clawing its way through the grief was the anger, white hot and visceral. Anger at God, anger at the medical community for its inability to cure Maggie, anger at herself for making the stupid rookie mistake of becoming emotionally involved with a patient. She was teetering on the verge of leaving the medical profession when Richard Stevens, in his solid, non-judgmental way, pulled her from the precipice, giving her the strength and inspiration to find the balance to be the best doctor possible and to care for her patients without losing a piece of herself when she couldn't save them.

She drew from that strength now, as a red, pulsating layer of anger wrapped itself around the visions of the accident victims being revisited by her mind's eye. Earlier in the day, they discovered that the accident at the foundry was preventable and was caused by negligence and greed, and not necessarily in that order.

The reluctant crew boss had tried in earnest to convince the penny-pinching owner of the foundry not to replace one of the worn blast furnace bells with a questionable used, but albeit cheaper, one. He painted a dire picture of what might happen if the part was not strong enough to withstand the inferno-like heat of the furnace. That the injured, killed and maimed factory workers came down on the wrong side of Murphy's Law on the day the bell blew, unable to contain the mounting build up of gas within the furnace, would not haunt the crew boss who had traded his life and those of others to keep his job. The perfidious plant owner had already contracted the best and brightest legal dream team money could buy. In the owner's bent, profiteering little mind, money talked and scruples walked.

The AcuMed tablet beeped, signaling that it was done transferring data, and it pulled Ellie back to the present. She disconnected the device and affixed her electronic signature to the uploaded data before returning to the staff quarters to grab her purse, not having the mental wherewithal to shower and change into street clothes, needing to get home and start working through everything, or at least have a good cry followed by collapsing into an endless, exhausted, dream-free sleep, which she desperately craved.

As she drove away from the hospital grounds with the top down, pointed toward Echo Park, she felt a bit of her rage evaporate, being released into the cool, SoCal evening. She hoped for his sake that the poor-excuse-of-a-human-being foundry owner never had the misfortune of requiring her assistance in the ER. She was fairly certain that the Hippocratic Oath would be rendered irrelevant.

He grunted as he grasped the dual handles and pulled the cables attached to the weights down and across his torso in a crisscross pattern, feeling a nice, low burn begin to simmer in his pecs after a few reps. He always thought more efficiently while in motion, pushing his body to the limit, coming as close to mediation as he would ever admit.

He was spoiling for a fight. The team hadn't received an assignment from Beckman in weeks, and The Intersect was as quiet as a church mouse on Christmas Eve. He wasn't used to down time. He didn't like it. He wasn't built for it. He needed to put the hurt on some scum-sucking bad guys to center his Chi. He exhaled through his nostrils, perspiration beading on his brow.

He longed to hear the satisfying crunch of bone on bone and feel the sting of his skin splitting open as he bloodied his knuckles on some deserving asshole's face. A few, well-placed body shots would do just the trick. He clenched the handles tighter, his knuckles turning white as he lunged forward, his fists striking an invisible enemy, elevating the stacked column of weights, causing it to rise higher and higher, as the sweat streamed freely down his throat, turning the royal blue of his ribbed tank top a dark navy.

All day spent working at the Buy More and not getting to play in the field, or be with Ellie, makes John a dull, cranky boy. He needed to find a way to channel the pent up energy, the mounting aggression. He fleetingly thought of the toke and stroke twins at the Buy More. Nah, way too easy. Couldn't even be considered a low-level challenge. The big, stoned one would be an insult to his fists, feeling like a lumpy, overused punching bag ready for the garbage heap. And the smaller, shiftier one would instantly assume the fetal position and beg for his miserable life. Pathetic.

Ellie had managed to get in a quick call to him each day before she nearly collapsed from exhaustion on the thin, narrow, back-breaking cot, but it wasn't enough. He needed to see her, touch her, hear her, taste her. She was his panacea, and if anyone had told him at the beginning of the mission that she would hold that kind of power over him, he would have laughed in their face and maybe even thrown in a couple of grunts for good measure.

John Casey didn't fall in love. Imagine the surprise, his stomach clenched and his body shuddered from the shock, when actual "feelings" stirred from the dregs of his killer's soul. It was a mistake to open the door and let someone in. Hadn't he learned this lesson when he was forced to allow his love for Kathleen to wither and die, or as he carried the shell shock of Ilsa's well-staged demise around with him for years, locked away, buried deeply within the steel-reinforced depths of his subconscious? But it was different with her somehow. It felt like the most natural thing in the world to love Ellie and be loved by her. Damn. He was getting soft, and he didn't care.

He hadn't heard from her yet today and didn't know when or if she would be home tonight. He hated not knowing when he was going to see her again and fall asleep with her wrapped around him. While he was aces on long, drawn-out stakeouts, eyes always on the prize, this waiting was slowly eating away at him, poking at his calm with a big, sharp stick.

The tank top was drenched from his exertion, molded to his torso, outlining each well-defined muscle group as they worked in meticulously sculpted harmony, his arms glistening in the overhead light. His body was hot, and as he paused between sets, he felt his muscles snapping and popping, practically sizzling as he pushed them to the limit. He sighed thoughtfully as he replaced the individual handles with the bar attachment, repositioning the steel pin, adding another 50 pounds to the stack, bringing the total to 150. He lay down on the bench and pressed the column of steel repeatedly toward the ceiling, bass, gravelly grunts rumbling up from the depths of his chest, forcing their way out between his clenched teeth as he expelled the air from his lungs. He was physically lit, the endorphins cruising through his blood, but it wasn't enough. He definitely needed to shoot something, or better yet, blow something up. Yeah, a big fiery explosion might take the edge off. He had some C-4 hidden around here somewhere.

Her hair streamed behind her in ribbons as she sailed down the 5, the wind running its fingers through the mahogany locks, which she'd freed from the constricting rubber band, loving the feel of freedom that coursed through her body as she neared home. At the beginning of the drive, she agonized over the patients at the hospital. Did the doctors starting the night shift need support? Would there be enough hands and cool-thinking heads to meet the patients' needs? Yes. Yes there would be, and Dr. Stevens told her so as he walked her to her car personally, ensuring that she went home to get some rest, making her promise to take a minimum of three days off before returning.

The drive was long enough for her to clear her head some, prioritizing what she needed now and what could wait for later. She pushed down on the gas pedal, speeding her journey, getting her closer to what she wanted, to what she needed, shortening the time until she reached him.

He lay on the vinyl bench, spent and soaked from head to toe, his chest heaving up and down as he dragged air into his lungs almost as quickly as it was forced out. He'd successfully managed to exert himself to the point of exhaustion. He wasn't sure if he could get his over-extended muscles to cooperate, allowing him to move, even if he wanted to, not that he necessarily had to at the moment. That was, until he heard the soft footsteps on the stairs. He tightened his abs and ignored the screams from his trashed biceps as he pushed himself up into a sitting position, his legs, clad in dark gray sweats, straddling the red, vinyl bench.

He reached for the still-pristine white towel hanging from the bar above his head and was about to towel off, making himself a bit more presentable, when she appeared in the doorway, the look on her face stopping him cold. Her eyes held a breathtaking mixture of hurt, need and naked hunger. Her windblown hair fell wild and loose around her shoulders, and her cheeks were flushed. He felt both the predator and guardian within him stir, wanting to protect and comfort as well as mate and claim.

He continued to sit and watched as she crossed the room to him and wordlessly lowered herself to his lap, straddling him. He set the towel behind him as she put her arms around him, holding on tightly, resting her head on his shoulder. He wrapped her in his strong embrace, rubbing her back and smoothing her hair.

He was so solid, and she found the wet heat and musky scent coming from him to be both comforting and arousing. She nestled in his arms for several minutes, absorbing the strength he so willingly gave. When she let go and pulled away, twin tears tracked down her cheeks. Concern clouded his blue eyes as he reached up and gently held her chin in his palm, grazing his thumb over the wetness on her cheek, wiping it away. At the same time, he leaned in, kissing the other away, tasting the salt on his tongue. His other hand slowly caressed her hip through the cotton scrub material she wore.

She closed her eyes and sighed at the feel of his lips on her face, as flames ignited low in her belly, causing the muscles of her core to contract as her inner lips engorged. When he finished taking her tears away, their eyes met. "John, I need…" The rest of her request went unspoken as he claimed her mouth with his, consuming her. Her lips parted under his, and his tongue filled her mouth, stroking hers and licking at her velvety heat. She tangled her arms around his neck, tunneling her fingers through his hair, which was still wet from his workout. He was going to eat her alive, and it was exactly what she wanted, what she needed.

A sob left her throat, and she arched her neck as his teeth tore at the delicate skin of her throat, marking her. Her hands slid down his back to the bottom of his tank top, and she slowly peeled the fabric from his skin. He kissed and tongued his way back up her neck and began ravaging her mouth again with his as he slid his hands under her scrub top. He was kissing her breathless.

"John, we should get you out of these wet clothes immediately, so you don't catch a chill," she panted.

"Yes ma'am," he breathed against her mouth before catching her lower lip between his teeth and tugging.

He paused long enough to obediently lift his arms as she helped him shuck the saturated garment, and groaned as he felt her hands glide over his sweat-slick abs and toy with the damp curls of his chest hair. He reached behind him, grabbing the towel, bringing it to his chest to wipe away the moisture still coating his skin. "No, John." She took the towel from him, tossing it to the floor. "I need you. All of you. I want to drown in you."

While polite when circumstances dictated, he was never truly one for propriety. All attempts at decorum were instantly forgotten as he grasped either side of her v-neck scrub top, renting it down the middle, the sound of the ripping fabric pushing them both over the edge as they tore at each other's clothes in their haste to have nothing separate them, devouring each other's mouths as the restrictive clothing was scattered across the floor. They only each rose from the bench long enough to remove the garments covering their lower bodies.

When they were both bare, John sat back down on the bench and lifted her onto his lap. She wound her long legs around his waist, and he pulled her against him. They both inhaled sharply as her cool, dry skin met his hot, wet flesh. She held on to his shoulders as he cupped her breast in his hand, lowering his head to suck the rosy tip into his mouth, feeling it pebble as he tugged on it with his teeth. As she arched her back in response to the jolt of pleasure that shot straight to her core, he opened his mouth wider, engulfing more of the sensitive flesh.

He was so hard, solid and whole, and she loved the feel of being enveloped by him as he held her in his arms and her body was draped in his hot, salty wetness. Her hands explored the broad expanse of his back and loved the feel of the muscles bunching under the slick skin, as his hot and hungry mouth continued to eat at her. As she writhed atop him, dipping her head down to nip at his neck, licking at the salt coating his skin, he rubbed his rock hard cock between her cheeks, fighting the overwhelming, animalistic urge to plunge into her as he felt himself being covered in her wetness. He contented himself temporarily by sucking on her other nipple, gorging himself on the taste of her in his mouth and the feel of her beautiful body surrounding him. He had experienced hell firsthand, so he knew this was what heaven must feel like.

When he felt himself begin to throb in time to her rhythmic grinding against him, he grasped her hips, lifting her up and slowly lowering her down over his shaft. She felt his big body shudder as she took all of him into her, swallowing him whole. She remained still for a few moments, resting her forehead against his, until their ragged breathing slowed. She lifted a hand and caressed his cheek, her breath hitching as he turned his mouth into her hand, pressing a kiss into the center of her palm. She started moving slowly, setting the pace, riding him rhythmically, languidly, having never felt as connected to someone as she did right now, as their gazes locked and held, transfixed by one another. He rested his hands on her hips, allowing her to drive, intuiting how important it was for her to be in control.

He made her burn, buried so deep within her, filling her completely. She moaned at the friction created as the coarse hair of his chest rubbed deliciously against the sensitive skin of her breasts and the tender buds of her nipples. The flames leapt and licked at her insides, and she felt beads of moisture rolling down her back as she undulated over him, and he rocked his hips upward, thrusting into her, their individual rhythms perfectly matched, synchronizing as one.

She was blazing now, the tight spiral of desire embedded deep within her beginning to unfurl, red tendrils of heat winding around them, binding them together. She rode faster, grasping his shoulders as she threw her head back, eager for release. He tightened his grip on her hips, crushing her to him as he matched her tempo, hammering into her, his pelvis rubbing against her clit with every pounding stroke. It was building, within him, the need for release, fire racing along the fuse, gobbling it up hungrily. As his climax reached the base of his cock, he lowered his head to her shoulder, biting down on the hot, creamy flesh, as he exploded, shooting his seed high into her body, bathing her womb, pumping her full.

Feeling his teeth sink into her shoulder, walking the gossamer fine line between pleasure and pain, tipped her over the edge. As his scalding hot release erupted within her, her own charge detonated, and she wrapped her legs around him even tighter, squeezing his sides with her sweat-slicked inner thighs, as she exploded, her inner walls contracting, milking him of every last drop.

They remained entwined, clinging to each other, soaked, as their rapid pants of breath slowly evened out. He nuzzled her neck with his nose, bringing his lips to her ear. "Keep those lovely legs wrapped around me, gorgeous." He leveraged the remaining strength in his legs and pushed himself up, cupping those beautiful buttocks of hers in his hands. "Okay, we're moving." She giggled in response as they moved out of the workout room and into the bedroom next door. "Oh, you think that's funny, do you?" he laughed right back, giving her a playful swat on the butt.

When they reached the bed, he gently set her down, and she scooted under the covers, making room for him. He flopped down on his back, his head sinking into the pillows, and a very contented grunt, mingled with a sigh, released itself from his chest. She kissed his shoulder and rested her head against his chest, snuggling against him as she felt his arm come around her. She placed her hand on his chest, splaying her fingers over his heart. 'Mine,' she whispered. And, as she drifted off to sleep she felt him stroking her hair and, she heard his soft response. "Yes, yours. All yours, Ellie, now and forever. _Yeah, much better than C-4_, he briefly ruminated before joining her in slumber.

~Fin


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